One Left
by AlexandriaAngelMist
Summary: Matthew had always known that too much sleep was bad, but he never knew how bad it could be. It is rated T mostly for gore and sad, and a little romance. If it is improperly catigorized, I appologize, this is my first fanfic.


Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, no matter how much I would like to ^^

Bang! Bang! Gunshots, loud as bombs.

He woke with a start to the gunshots. He looked at the clock, saw the date, and realized how long he had been asleep. Too long. He had been asleep far too long.

He jumped out of bed and tossed some clothes on, changing as quickly as possible. Heading outside, he grabbed his unused rifle from the mantle over the fireplace. There was no telling what was out there. With any luck, he would have no use for the gun.

He ran outside and was shocked by what he saw. Ten feet in front of him, there was a young man. He had bond hair and blue eyes. He wore a brown air force windbreaker over a typical U.S Army uniform. He was doubled over on his knees, a large United States, which was fluttering grandly in the breeze, was clutched in his left hand, as if for support. His right arm was wrapped around his center, as if it was the only way the young man could stay whole. His high tech machine gun lay in a growing pool of crimson blood.

The young man looked up. "Hey, Mattie," he said weakly with a small smile. This seemed to use up the last of his strength, for, after, he slid down the flag pole to lay on his back. His legs lay at odd angles, his right arm was still clutching what you could now see was his bleeding middle, and his left hand had let the flag fall. Slowly and gracefully it fell, flowing bravely.

"A-Alfred!" Matthew cried, surging forward. He kneeled down, covering his clothes in blood. He laid Alfred out straight and took the other man's head onto his lap.

"Hey, Mattie," Alfred said again even weaker than before. "It's been a while." He gave a little chuckle, which made him cough up a mouthful of blood. Taking in a deep, pained breath, he gave a small, weak smile, which gave away just how bad a state he was in. Alfred could always manage some sort of cocky oblivious-to-the-world smile.

"Oh, Alfred," Matthew said, stroking Alfred's ruffled, muddy, blond hair off of his forehead, which was moist from the sweat and blood. "What happened? What can I do?" He caressed Alfred's face lovingly.

"There's nothing you can do, now, Mattie," Alfred answered. He chuckled again, and, again, a cough like thunder brought up a mouthful of saliva mixed blood. "I'm afraid this hero is down for the count." He placed his hand on the top of Matthew's, which was still lingering lightly on his jaw. "But I think I got him, Mattie, I think I got him."

Using all his strength, Alfred reach up and wiped the tears from Matthew's eyes, who hadn't even realized he had started crying. He let his hand linger at Matthew's face, and smiled, knowing this would be the last time they would ever be able to see each other.

It teased at the back of Matthew's mind, Alfred saying, "I think I got him." But he pushed the thought away. Alfred was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it. It was too late. He couldn't care about anything but the bleeding, dying figure in front of him.

The sat there for a few minutes, just as they were. Matthew weeping silently and stoking Alfred's hair and face, Alfred staring up lovingly at Matthew, life falling quickly from his beautiful blue eyes. Finally, with the last of his energy, Alfred sat up slowly, painfully. When he had sat up as far as her could, he pulled Matthew's head down for a gentle kiss.

Matthew put his arms around Alfred and kissed back gently, tears still falling from his eyes. Alfred, becoming even weaker, fell back from the kiss, all his weight in Matthew's arms. He creased Matthew's face, and smiled. Then, taking his final breath, his eyes closed and his arm fell to his side.

Matthew laid back down the lifeless body of Alfred. If it weren't for the lake of blood around him, he could have been sleeping peacefully. Matthew sat for a moment, immobilized and unsure of what to do. Alfred was gone. Forever. He had died in Matthew's very arms.

He stood, took the flag from the flag pole, and covered Alfred in a blanket of red, white, and blue. It fluttered down over his sad, still smiling, lifeless, heroic face. For now, there was nothing else Matthew could do.

Matthew looked around, wiping the tears from his face. It was then that he saw what Alfred's words had meant, and he wished he hadn't. Twenty feet away, there was another flag, another lake of blood, another body.

Not really wanting to see, but having curiosity win him over, Matthew walked over slowly to see who it was.

The lifeless body lay with arms and legs at strange angles. The green uniform was torn and blood covered, belt lay, thrown, a few feet away. His short hair was hardly recognizable as blond for the blood and dirt. His sad, empty green eyes were staring blankly at the morning sky, and his bushy eyebrows were knit together, as if saying, "I wish it could have ended sooner." Arther's broken body lay pitifully, as if he were falling forever.

Matthew felt like crying again, but the tears wouldn't com. He had dried his eyes for Alfred. He straightened Arther's body and shut the man's lifeless eyes. Taking this flag from its flag pole as well, he covered Arther, just like Alfred. There were now both just two sleeping figures ready for eternal rest.

What had happened here? Who had started all this? Who had shared the same fate at these two? And, most importantly, who was left?

Matthew started to wander around aimlessly, not really knowing where to go. He happened to wander across Alfred's place. It was the picture of total destruction. Matthew had no idea what could cause this much devastation. Even a war between Arther and Alfred… couldn't do this much damage. But he was determined to find out what could. Whatever it was, it had taken Alfred away from him.

_Maybe_, Matthew thought. _Maybe one of the Europeans knows what happened._

So he started wandering in the general direction of the European houses. He really hoped someone there would tell him something, but his hope dwindled away as he saw the destruction spread over here as well. Blood on the grass and crumbling buildings were just some of the less gruesome details to the appearance of the land.

He kept on wandering, eyes unwillingly taking in the scene before him. Waiting to meet someone along the way, Matthew continued walking. But no one came to meet him. There were no people. No movement. No sound. There was only the eerie blow of soft wind through the leafless trees and the ear splitting silence of death.

Matthew kept moving; not knowing what else there was to do. All he wanted now were answers, everything else was gone, and he would walk around the world forever to find those answers.

Suddenly, Matthew heard a gunshot in the distance. He paused, but only for a moment, and then continued walking. A few minutes later, another gunshot. It was closer this time. Who would still be shooting at each other now? He walked on, more quickly, planning on trying to stop whoever it was, before the whole world was gone. Not a minute later, a third gunshot. This time the bullet flew past his head, missing his ear b and inch. He stopped dead, not daring to move.

"Who goes there," called a strong voice from nowhere Matthew could place. "Who are you, and what business do you have here? This is neutral land!"

"I-I'm Matthew," he answered quietly. Unmoving, he waited for a reply. Any move, even retreat, could get him killed at the moment.

A figure started to emerge from the shadows in front of Matthew. The blotchy outline of a person slowly started to take the form of a young man. As the man moved forward, Matthew could see that he wore a long green jacket and brow pants with a white hat placed on top of his head; the uniform of the Swiss. The man also held a rifle up to his eye, and was aiming it at Matthew.

"Matthew, huh," he questioned, lowering his gun slightly. "You're from North America, aren't you?" He was thinking of Alfred. No one ever seemed to be able to remember Matthew.

"Y-yes," Matthew answered. "Canada." He added the last part knowing what the other man was probably thinking. "W-who are you?"

"Vash," he said curtly. "And this is neutral territory. I won't allow you to bring the war here. Feel luck I missed the first time." Vash raised his gun again and prepared to put a bullet through Matthew's head.

"W-wait," Matthew cried, holding his hands up and retreating a few quick steps. "W-what war? Arther and Alfred," his voice cracked a little when he said the second name. "J-just died. Right in front of my door. I…. I just want to know what's going on." By the end of his words, he was holding back tears.

"You're not part of the war," Vash asked cautiously.

"I-I don't even know what war I would be a part of," Matthew answered, truthfully.

"You didn't know about World War III?" Vash could see by Matthew's questioning and confused expression that the other man was telling the truth. "Well," Vash said gravely. "You had better com with me, Matthew."

Vash turned his back and walked back to the shadows from which he had come. Matthew followed the shorter man quickly. He didn't know where Vash would take him, but he had just become slightly less lost, and he didn't want to go back to wandering.

They walked along hidden paths that Vash seemed to know very well. It was difficult for Matthew to follow the man, and he fell behind quickly. Luckily, he could see their destination. When they arrived, Matthew ran to catch up to Vash as he opened the door.

They walked inside and Vash closed the door behind them. He then lead Matthew into a sitting room, and motioned for the taller man to have a seat. He then walked away to where Matthew assumed was the kitchen, because he came back with two cups of tea. Handing one cup to the sitting Matthew, he sat himself down as well.

"So," Vash said after a long sip of tea. "You know absolutely nothing about the war?"

Matthew shook his head, saying, "No. Alfred and Arther just died in front of my door. I… I just want to know what's going on."

"I suppose I should start at the beginning, then," Vash said with a weak smile as he sat down his cup. "Well, as you may have known, before the war, Toris was conquered by Ivan and forced to live with the Russian. Feliks had never been to happy about it, but he had lost his will to fight when Toris was taken away from him.

"Recently, though, Feliks had been gaining power. Eventually he got up the nerve to take Toris back. Ivan was none too thrilled at being beaten, not to mention loosing Toris. He started gathering allies to attack Feliks and retrieve Toris, if he didn't die in the attack. Feliks found out and started gather allies of his own.

"The world split itself in half. Those with Feliks were willing to fight the opposition with all they had. Those with Ivan were too terrified to go against his wishes.

"I can't tell you what the sides were, because soon after the war started, there were complications within each side. It became every country for themselves." He paused for a moment, and looked into the blazing fire. "Now that Alfred and Arther are… gone, the war is officially over." He gave a small, soft, sad smile.

"W-what happened to everyone," Matthew asked in little more than a whisper. "I… I didn't see a single living soul o-on my way here."

"They're all gone," he answered, half to himself. Then, upon seeing Matthew's confused face, he continued. "When Feliks realized that everyone was turning on everyone else, he took Toris and disappeared. Ivan was killed by his own allies when the war turned, as I heard. Most were casualties, and there were a few other disappearances, including my Lili."

Suddenly, Matthew remembered the horrible dream he had had during his long sleep. It hadn't been just a horrible dream, or the terrors of his unconsciousness. He had seen the war as it went on around, but he hadn't paid attention. He had slept through it all. Now, it started to come back to him, detail by detail.

Elizabeta had started to lose power early on in the war, and it had continued to dwindle. Eventually, she lost all of her strength, and, still beautiful as ever, was taken to be with her love, Gilbert. There, they watched the war continue on.

Kiku fought alongside Ludwig and Feliciano up until his death. Arther had been opposing Ludwig and saw his alliance with him as a threat. He was killed quickly and painlessly in his sleep. A dagger through the heart did the job in seconds.

The next to go were Ludwig and Feliciano, who died together. Alfred and Arther had made a temporary alliance to take on Ludwig. They ambushed him by night in an attempt to catch him off guard. Feliciano heard the attack and tried to save Ludwig, but was mortally wounded in his valiant attempt. In his anger, Ludwig lashed out at Arther, and badly hurt him. But he was shot three times through his chest, and became weak from bleeding. Seeing that the other men were dying, Arther left. Ludwig moved slowly and weakly back to Feliciano, and they spent their last moments together, bleeding out in each other's arms.

He remembered how Francis had gone. It had been him and Arther fight, just as always. There were gunshots, and running, and even some laughter, though the laughter had a strange, demented edge to it. These fights were quite common, and not usually anything to worry about. But this time seemed…. Different.

"You really think you can beat me, Frog?" Arther yelled over his shoulder as he ran. There was a small crazed smile on his face.

"Oui," Francis replied, chasing after his opponent. "It shouldn't be 'ard to beat a tea sucker, like you're self. Besides," he answered with a little French laugh. "You keep running away. You know I can beat you, as well."

Arther stopped in his tracks and turned to face his opponent, pointing his gun as he did. Francis stopped as well, fifteen feet away, also pointing his gun. Both were breathing heavily from their long run.

"I've stopped," Arther said, gesturing with the hand without the gun to emphasize his stillness. "So try and shoot me."

"Ladies first, mon cher," Francis returned. He smiled and gave a mockingly polite little bow.

Arther scowled and aimed his gun with both hands. "Say adieu," he whispered in his British accent, pulling the trigger on the gun. There was a little click, but nothing happened. He tried again and again. Click, click! He was out of bullets.

Francis laughed at the look of shock on Arther's face as he threw away his gun and franticly searched for another. The Frenchman raised his gun and took aim. "Adieu," he said, firing his shot.

Just as the shot was fired, a little blond boy in a sailor's suit appeared out of nowhere. He stood in front of Arther, arms spread wide to protect the other man.

The bullet hit the little boy square in the chest. Blood splattered as he fell into Arther's still shocked arms. Francis still wasn't sure what had happened. It had all happened so fast, it seemed to have been in slow motion.

"P-Peter," Arther exclaimed as he caught the young boy. "W-why? Why would you do something like that" Tears sprang up in the man's eyes as he realized what had just happened.

Peter looked up and smiled at the older man. "I never hated you," he said as a answer, coughing up a mouthful of blood. "H-he was going to shoot you, Dad. I," a cough broke him off. "I couldn't let that h-happen." His voice was weak, and the light was draining from his once shining eyes, just as the blood was draining from his once full-of-life body. Just moments after, he closed his eyes and, as his small body shook, he took his final breath.

Arther laid the lifeless body of young Peter down and stood up. He was covered in the boy's blood, and had a crazed look in his green eyes. "I never hated you, either," he said.

Francis saw the crazed look in his eyes. Now was not the time for foolish confidence. He turned his back and ran to only God knows where. Arther chased after him shooting blindly in rage.

By the time Arther had calmed and stopped shooting, Francis had escaped, but he was never seen again. Arther walked back to the body and wept for hours, until his eyes were dry. After that, he was never really the same.

Matthew came back to himself. Shaking the dream and the death out of his head, he blinked back tears. He didn't want to remember any more. Gone. Everyone was gone. He hadn't even been able to try and stop it. He had been asleep the entire time; unconscious, and still watching.

He looked over at Vash, who had been silent as Matthew remembered his dream. He had stood up and slung a gun over his shoulder. He was staring out the window; it had started raining outside.

"W-what are you doing," Matthew asked. Tears had started to fall from his eyes, and he couldn't stop them.

"I have to go find Lili," Vash answered, readjusting the strap of his gun on his shoulder. He walked over to the front door, and swung it open. "I'm not sure when I'll be back, or even if I'll be back." He paused for a moment, and continued. "I guess the world is yours now." With that he left, running off with his gun, not sure if he'd ever see his home again.

As Vash left, all Matthew's wishes came true, but not in a way that he would have expected. The entire world knew who he was, but he was all alone. Everyone was gone; either dead or disappeared. The whole world was his.

It was an awfully lonely world.

Author's Notes: This is my first fanfic, so please critique, but be kind. I almost cried while writing this... But it was still a lot of fun! And... Um~... Well, I hope you enjoied it! Oh! I almost forgot! If the reviews for this turn out well, then I might think about writing a sequel. Yes! The story can still continue! ^^ Until next time! 3


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